Maya couldn't shake the sense of being watched. As she and Ryan walked down the bustling street, her eyes darted to every reflective surface—windows, car mirrors, even puddles on the sidewalk. It felt irrational, but after her conversation with Amanda, she wasn't sure what was paranoia and what was genuine danger.
Ryan noticed her glances and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You're looking around like you're expecting someone to jump out of an alley."
She tried to brush it off with a faint laugh. "Guess I'm just spooked. Amanda made it sound like I've been a chess piece in some game I didn't even know I was playing."
He didn't laugh. "If that's true, we need to figure out who the other players are."
They reached Maya's apartment, and she hesitated before unlocking the door. "Come in," she said, her voice quieter now.
Ryan followed her inside, his protective instincts on high alert. He didn't know what Amanda had said to her, but it was enough to make Maya—one of the most composed people he knew—look like she was ready to unravel.
The apartment was warm and inviting, but tonight it felt like a strange liminal space, caught between the life Maya had built for herself and the one Amanda insisted she was destined for.
Maya set her bag on the counter and turned to Ryan. "I need to go through my father's things."
He raised an eyebrow. "You kept his stuff?"
"Not much," she admitted. "When he died, my mother boxed up what was left of his office and gave it to me. I never really looked through it. I thought I didn't need to."
Ryan nodded. "Where is it?"
"In the closet."
She led him to her bedroom, where she knelt and pulled a large storage box from the back of the closet. It was covered in a fine layer of dust, and the sight of it made her chest tighten. She hadn't opened it in years.
Ryan crouched beside her as she lifted the lid. Inside were folders, notebooks, and a few personal items—an old leather-bound journal, a set of cufflinks, and a framed photo of her father standing next to a younger man she didn't recognize.
"Who's that?" Ryan asked, pointing to the photo.
Maya shook her head. "I don't know. I've never seen him before."
Ryan took the photo, studying the man's sharp features and confident smile. "We should figure out who he is. He might be connected to all of this."
Maya nodded, but her attention was drawn to the journal. She opened it carefully, the leather creaking as if protesting the disturbance. The pages were filled with her father's neat handwriting, interspersed with diagrams and what looked like flowcharts.
"This doesn't look like a journal," she murmured. "It's more like… plans."
Ryan leaned over to look. "What kind of plans?"
She flipped through the pages, her pulse quickening. There were notes about companies she recognized—Sterling & Crown among them—along with references to meetings, partnerships, and something ominously labeled "The Network."
At the back of the journal was a single line that sent a chill down her spine:
"The heir must be prepared. The handoff is inevitable."
"What the hell does that mean?" Ryan muttered, his brow furrowed.
Maya shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think it means Amanda was telling the truth."
Before they could process further, Maya's phone buzzed on the counter. She stood, her stomach tightening as she saw an unknown number flash on the screen.
"Are you going to answer?" Ryan asked.
She hesitated, then picked it up, pressing it to her ear. "Hello?"
"Maya O'Connor," a smooth, male voice said. It wasn't a question.
Her grip on the phone tightened. "Who is this?"
"A friend," the voice replied. "Or perhaps an ally. That depends on you."
Her heart raced. "If you think cryptic threats are going to intimidate me, you've got the wrong person."
The man chuckled lightly. "No threats, Maya. Only opportunities. You're in possession of something valuable—your father's journal, yes? It holds answers to questions you haven't even thought to ask yet."
Maya glanced at Ryan, who was watching her with concern. "How do you know about the journal?"
"Because your father trusted the wrong people," the man said, his tone cooling. "People who will stop at nothing to control what he left behind. Be careful who you trust, Maya. Not everyone is who they seem."
The line went dead.
Maya lowered the phone, her hand trembling.
"What was that?" Ryan asked, standing.
"Someone who knows about the journal," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "And he's warning me about… someone."
Ryan's expression hardened. "You need to tell me exactly what he said."
Before she could respond, her apartment buzzer sounded. Both of them froze.
Ryan moved first, walking to the intercom. "Who is it?"
The voice that replied was calm and familiar. "It's Amanda. We need to talk."
Maya and Ryan exchanged a tense glance.
"What are the odds this is a coincidence?" Ryan asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
"Zero," Maya said, her voice firm.
As she moved toward the door, a single thought rang in her mind: Whoever Amanda truly was, she wasn't here by chance.
She opened the door cautiously, her heart pounding. Amanda stood there, her expression unreadable.
"We don't have much time," Amanda said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "They know you have the journal. And they're coming for it."
Maya's blood ran cold.
"Who's they?" Ryan demanded.
Amanda turned to him, her eyes sharp. "The people who believe Maya's inheritance belongs to them. If you don't want to lose everything, we need to move. Now."
Maya clenched her fists, the weight of her father's legacy pressing down on her like never before. She glanced at Ryan, his protective stance unwavering.
For the first time, she realized that stepping into her father's world might not just change her life—it might endanger it.
"Let's go," she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.
Ryan grabbed the journal, and they followed Amanda out the door. The shadows outside felt heavier than usual, and Maya couldn't shake the feeling that they were no longer alone.